Second Guessing
by DaughterOfAres
Summary: Episode tag for Boys Will Be Boys (2x06). Sharon second guesses several decisions.


**This is an episode tag for Boys Will Be Boys (2x06). Inspired in no small part by Kadi219. I don't consider this romantic, really, and only mildly Sharon/Jack. But I thought I should warn everyone. If you can't stand the sight of Jack Raydor this may not be for you. Also, I did my own beta'ing...I'm sure there are a lot of grammatical mistakes. I apologize. **

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**Second Guessing **

She was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Exhausted.

She'd tried to push it aside while at the cemetery with the kids. Somehow being there had made her feel worse. More exhausted. Old. She'd second guessed her decision to go along with Jack's scheme the second the words left her mouth. Rusty had obviously not wanted to go, if his posture wasn't enough to tell her that the way he'd said "it sounds like fun" was a dead giveaway. At the time it seemed the best way to teach him. Make him see his untruth through to the end. Let him experience the uneasy he was subjecting himself to just because he couldn't tell Kris that he only wanted to be friends. Maybe it would propel him towards the right decision. But Rusty had been so terribly uncomfortable the entire time, and she couldn't help but remember watching him in the interview room telling Kris that "someone had taken him there once" and how it had been "fun for a little while." She wanted him to forget things like that. She wanted to take away his bad memories. Not remind him of those times.

The movie was half over when she'd stopped seconding guessing her decision. Those thoughts were then replaced with images of a child with gender dysphoria whose head had been bashed in with a bat by her big brother. She couldn't go back to second guessing herself. She'd learned to compartmentalize years ago, and usually didn't have to think about it anymore. It was second nature. It came to her as easily as breathing. Sometimes, though, it wasn't so easy. This case, this girl, was going to be one of those things. She'd learned how to deal with that to: alone, in bath or her bed with a few tears and a silent pray. Watching a movie in a cemetery was not the place for that to happen, however.

Now, in her condo, with Rusty asleep in his room she stood in the hall. The entrance to her own bedroom and bed just behind her as she looked into the dark living room. The curtains were open and the city lights illuminated the room enough for her to see the man on the couch. She wrapped her arms around herself, and leaned against the wall. The exhaustion caught up with her arms as soon as her shoulder pressed against the solid surface, and she released herself from the awkward hug. She should go to bed. She needed to go to sleep. She would feel better when she woke up. She always did. But falling asleep in bed, alone, with only her pillows to be close to would not be easy. After a hard case…and a terrible day…well, she'd wished on more than one occasion for someone to be in bed next to her. Someone to hold. It was especially difficult tonight when there was someone willing to keep her company asleep on the couch.

Jack. It wouldn't be the first time since they'd separated that she'd let him back into her bed. Often to do more than just hold her. It was as much of a surprise to her as him when she'd insisted on him staying on the couch this time. It wasn't a rule she often enforced. At least not for more than a couple of nights.

This time was different though. This time the child staying with her was not his. Was not one they'd created together. Though, now, that those children weren't living with her she couldn't fathom why she'd ever thought that was a good reason. What had she taught her children by letting their alcoholic father walk in and out of their lives, and her bedroom? Each time it happened she had a perfectly logical reason. Each time she told herself that things would be different. She closed her eyes. What sort of example had she set for her children? Forcefully she pushed that thought aside. Now was not the time for those thoughts. What was done was done. She had no way of undoing it, and could only hope that Ricky and Emily would learn from her mistakes. She wouldn't do the same to Rusty. He'd probably seen his mother sharing a bed with every man who looked at her twice. She wanted to set a better example for him. She would not let him see Jack making himself comfortable in her room.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, Sharon?"

She opened her eyes at Jack's voice laced, as always, with amusement. There was a time she'd loved that about him. How he could make anything bothering her seem less important and easier to overcome just by sounding a little amused.

With a minimal amount of grunting he sat up on her couch pushing the blanket to one side. He rested his right arm on the back of the couch turning just enough to watch her. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He simply watched her.

Before she could think of a response or even make a decision she felt her bare feet moving over the wooden floor towards the couch. The invitation was simply too welcoming. Even separated longer than they had ever lived as husband and wife she knew Jack better than anyone. And he knew her. Even if the love they'd started out with once was gone. They still had children. They had shared their hopes and dreams and fears and sorrows. They would always have a connection. People who've known each other for thirty years- whether they like the other person or not- still know each other.

She and Jack had been through this before in various circumstances. He knew what she needed after the last two days she'd had. Part of her thought that the reason for the movie was less about Rusty and more about distracting her. He always tried that first. The first time she'd shot someone he'd taken her to a small theater to watch interpretative dancers interpret Mozart. God only knew how he'd heard of that theater. She could barely remember the show, but afterwards he poured them both a glass of wine and held her on their threadbare couch while she talked him through her worries over the use of force investigation. It had been her first experience with IA. It seemed like an eternity ago, now. When it had been just the two of them, their dreams, and a thrift store couch.

She didn't sit down next him. She sat closer to the arm of the couch and slowly turned while bringing her feet up off the floor. More out of habit than modesty she adjusted her robe around her closed legs as she carefully tucked her feet under Jack's warm thigh. She offered him a small smile in exchange for keeping her feet warm.

"Long couple of days, I guess." The amusement was still there, but tempered with understanding.

"Yeah." A deep breath led to a yawn, and she leaned the side of her head against the back of the couch as she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax a little.

"You caught the guy who did it though?" He paused only long enough to see her nod. "That's good. That's good. At least it won't happen again."

"It was her brother." She spoke softly, as he did, as people usually do when sitting in a darkened room. "He thought she was going to break up their family."

"And what did he think killing her was going to do?"

"He didn't. He's a child still himself."

She watched him wait for her to continue. She once told Rusty that she couldn't remember Jack's good qualities. She'd meant it as a joke. Something she'd tell people at a dinner party if they brought up her husband. It was a well-rehearsed line. But it wasn't completely true. Jack had good qualities. Especially when sober. This was one of them.

"Their mother tried to help cover up what her son did." Normally, she didn't discuss the details of her job. It was illegal for one. Even criminals had a right to privacy until a court said otherwise. But there was a reason that even the courts considered the marriage bond so sacred that communications between husband and wife were seen as privileged. Every cop did it. Every lawyer. Every judge. They all talked about their days at work, and sometimes said a little too much because they needed to talk about it with someone. And who better than a spouse? She would still do her best not to say too much. She wouldn't tell Jack how the mother had buried her own daughter or how they'd caught her, but telling Jack just enough so he could understand how she was feeling. That was okay.

Jack was waiting for her to say more.

"I can't…" she trailed off in order to collect her thoughts. "I can't understand that. I can't understand how she could cover up one child's murder thinking it would protect her other child. All the while insisting she was a good mother."

"Yeah." Jack's eyebrows rose and fell before he shook his head slowly, his eyes leaving hers for only a short time. Ricky would do that, too, but without the headshake.

"I can't imagine losing…to stand over my child's…" she couldn't even finish the sentence, but she didn't have to. Jack would know. "But I can't imagine knowing that one of my children hurt the other and-"

"You'll never have to."

She'd turned her eyes towards the couch, but brought them back to Jack at his words.

"You'll never have to because you never claimed to be a good mother."

Her eyes widened because he was not accusing the mother of his own children—

Jack interrupted her thoughts, "You've never claimed that you were a good mother. You've always said that you had good children. And you believe that. Even with Rusty. And none of those children would ever put you in that position because of what you've taught them."

Her chest tightened just a bit as the pride she always felt for her children swelled. Her children-all three of them- were good people. Two of them had grown up to be remarkable and decent and kind adults. The third-the one that was hers whether he wanted to be or not- would do the same. She knew he would.

"I've told you this before, I know. And it's a bit cliché." Jack paused, and rearranged himself on the couch-mindful of her feet. Turning towards her more he moved his arm from the back of the couch and rested his hand gently on her knee. "You've the most noble and decent person in the world. Even if you don't know the right thing to do you know what the wrong thing is and that you shouldn't do the wrong thing. And if everyone could be like you—" he paused again this time for a small smile. "Then you'd be out of a job."

She smiled, "So would you."

Jack sighed dramatically and moved his hand from her knee in order to throw it up in the air. "Alas, mi' lady, the crux."

She chuckled silently behind her smile, missing the feel of his hand on her knee. "How long are you going to quote Shakespeare?"

"I don't think that was an actual quote…"

She pushed the toes of her right foot into his thigh.

"Ow!" Jack jumped a little, smiling and chuckling.

Her shoulders shook with still silent laughter. "Shh…you'll wake up Rusty!"

He continued to chuckle, and placed his hand on her knee, his fingers massaging it gently. She doubted he was conscious of the movement.

Their laughter was over quickly and silence followed, but the lightness remained in its wake.

After a moment she spoke. "Thank you, Jack."

He shrugged, and his hand fell from her knee to her ankle where he rubbed with the same well practiced tenderness. When she was pregnant with Ricky he'd perfected the technique. Her ankles never swelled when she was pregnant with Emily, but Ricky…she could have sworn that the fact she couldn't fit her feet in her shoes was the first sign she was pregnant. Jack- despite the drinking problem that she was ignoring -would rub her feet and legs almost every night. His finger then, as they did now, would press lightly into her skin and each fingertip would roll in a small circle. Then he would walk each finger- one by one- over just a little, press down, and the process would start over.

She was content to let him do that for as long as he liked. She leaned her head against the couch, and closed her eyes. 

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